White-Out

Hi. My name is Jerry. I was writing a letter to my ex-wife, but I made a typo when I put my name at the bottom.

Sincerely,
Jerky

She wouldn't call that a mistake, but I wanted to fix it. I shuffled through the colored rubber bands and thumb tacks in my desk until I found the White-ut. Did you know that Michael Nesmith's mom invented White-Out? You know, the guy from the Monkees...

I really hadn't thought much about that purple meteor that crashed through the roof the night before, but as I dabbed the white paste at the erroneous letter K in my name, I felt a strange rush like when you smash your funny bone. Only the feeling was on the inside of my brain.

White-Out flowed like a river from the tip of the brush and down onto my feet. Suddenly I was bathed in the goop. I was being corrected. I could feel my football knees healing and my kidney stones disappearing. When the White-Out engulfed my face, that halitosis that no mouthwash could cure was gone.

I raised my hands and cool pure White-Out flowed from my fingers and out the open window. Into the world. Erasing smog, acid rain, bad art, the Monkees, the Challenger disaster, the pass I made at my ninth grade English teacher, the ball that went between Buckner's legs in the 1986 World Series, that abortion I helped Julie pay for in 1988, and my marriage.